Rooftop Investigation

I don’t know about the rest of you but I live a few blocks from the ocean and have a multitude of seagulls flying overhead at any given time. Additionally, our neighborhood has a crow population that must rival that of China and with fruit trees, we have a gang of mockingbirds and a more than typical population of hummingbirds.

Now…the other day I was up on our roof, doing some man shit, when I noticed that I did not see any bird shit on the roof. A bit surprised, due to the above paragraph, I searched the entire roof. (Yes, I was on the roof scanning for bird scat.) I looked up, and saw a bunch of the pesky fliers that I’ve been talking about…but no poo. Then I took it upon myself to find the best locations on the roof to see the neighboring houses’ roofs. Not having the eyesight that I did in my younger years, I jumped through a window and grabbed my binoculars.

Once back up on the roof, I began scanning the close by rooftops through my binoculars. Still not seeing even one splattering of bird shit…I began letting it really bother me. I stayed up there for what seemed like an eternity, looking from house to house through the binoculars.

Now most of you probably know that when one is looking through binoculars…you only see what you are aiming at…you remove all peripheral vision. Crouched down on the roof, black lenses glued to my face…and all of the sudden I heard, “you up there! What are you doing? Come down here!” Almost falling off the roof and nearly dropping the binoculars, I turned to see that the neighborhood security had seen me and stopped, thinking that I was looking through peoples’ windows.

I climbed down and approached the irritated and confused officer. Before he could say a word, I began explaining what I had been doing. The guy’s facial expression said, “What the fuck ever dude. I know what you were doing.” By the time I finished my story, he just burst out laughing. As both of us were cracking up, he blurted out, “That is the best story that I’ve ever heard on the job…or you need to find yourself a good hobby.”

Realizing that, although he was laughing, he was not sure if he believed me or not, I told him to look for himself…that he had to come up and see first hand. He refused but admitted that by me insisting and the sincerity in voice…that he believed my story. He jumped back into his car, still chuckling as he picked up his radio and drove off.

I have to say that I did not even realize what it must have looked like. Me sitting up on the roof with binoculars…looking at the neighbors’ houses.

I need to stop and think before doing some of the shit that I do!!!

Back to my question...and the reason for this post.

Why do you rarely find bird poo on roofs? Do they hold it while flying over neighborhoods? Save it for people at the beach or on picnics? I don't get it.

Visit to the Vault, by Russ

After being awoken by an attractive young lady, who is not my wife (she was ringing the doorbell, not nudging me), I was left to start the day a touch wild eyed. (I don't know who the lady was looking for, to my knowledge, the person has never lived here. However, she is the second person who has come here looking for this person.)

I waited until TV time was over to get the kids out and moving. Specifically, moving to the bank (with the promise of the library if they behaved). I had to hit the safety deposit box to review some paperwork therein.

So we arrive at the bank and I gain access to the vault (not nearly as impressive as it sounds). Mr. B starts quietly throwing his balls all over the vault and Miss L is removing all the little green markers from the keyholes of the boxes. Some bank teller is not going to be happy.

I let the kids run wild in the vault while I filter through the crap that the Wife and I deemed important. I managed to put my hands on my Life Insurance policy fairly quickly and copied down the needed info. Some notes on the application led me to believe that I have more policies. Policies that I could not find.

There I find myself with three piles of paperwork, My Stuff, Wife's Stuff, and Other. Mr. B decided that now is a great time to announce, "Me go Poopy!" (At least we are alone in the vault.) My first fear is that he was referring to poopy in the past tense. Since there was no green cloud about him, we were safe for the moment. Now, I have to pack up all the paperwork and lock up my box to take Mr. B to the toilet.

So we are wandering about the bank looking for the facilities. Mind you, this is a pretty small branch, it should not be hard to find it. After searching frantically for a few minutes, I enlisted the help of an employee.

It seems that, to dissuade rabble from coming in off the street, they have no public restrooms. I told the employee fine, but I have a three year old who just pulled me from the safety deposit box room to go poopy. (Yes, I said "poopy", I must be a Dad.) The employee took pity on me and told me where it was.

We get to the bathrooms and Mr. B bolts for the ladies room. Fortunately one of the tellers was leaving at the moment and was able to redirect him. Upon entering the mens room, we ensconced ourselves in the handicapped stall (more room for everybody). The toilet seat, per usual in a public facility, was the split kind. Mr. B had never sat on one of those before. Add to it that I didn't pack his children's toilet seat (with handy dandy splash guard!) and I was left to cantilever my son on the commode while my hand got to play the role of "splash guard".

Ahh, the shit they don't tell you about becoming a parent.

Speaking of shit, there was none. I got my hand pissed on for nothing.

Oh well, I was able to finish up in the vault and get the kids to the library.